“I wish I knew,” Mr. Peterson says. “I must say, it’s had the rest of us at the law firm very curious when I retrieved it from the safe deposit box for you.”
I rotate it in my hands, looking for something, anything, that stands out on it that might explain why my dad would leave me something like this. Is it a key to fighting the Moirai? Or is it just an old family heirloom?
Discreetly, I look over my shoulder, trying to see if Abigail is still there. Sensing my question, she walks closer and bends down right beside me.
“I have never seen such a thing before,” she whispers, eyeing it with the same bewilderment.
I shake my head. “I’m not sure what it is, either,” I say, flipping it over.
“These look like they could be words,” Wade says, pointing to some of the carvings along the corners.
“Well, I do hope you’ll share with us the mystery of the box,” Mr. Peterson says with a wistful longing in his eyes. It’s clear the mystery of the box is the most excitement this guy has seen in years.
Tipping my head, I say, “I will do that.”
“Now, other than the box,” Mr. Peterson says, holding onto his lapel like he’s about to give a great speech, “you have also been willed quite a nice lump sum.”
Wade and I exchange a significant glance as Mr. Peterson takes a sip of his tea.
“How much?” I ask.
“Fifty-million dollars.”
Wade spits out his tea. Then he wipes frantically at his knees.
“I’m sorry, did you just say fifty million?” he asks, blinking wildly.
My jaw hangs open and I don’t quite have the words.
“Now, of course, the rest belongs to another beneficiary,” Mr. Peterson says, almost as if he’s somber about relaying that information.
“Wait—what about the house?” I say, suddenly alarmed.
“Well, I’m afraid the house doesn’t belong to you,” Mr. Peterson says.
“What?” I sputter. “You have to be kidding. Who else would my father will it to?”
Mr. Peterson sits up a bit straighter, tugging at his collar. “Well, to his wife, of course.”
Chapter 5
Puzzling
All thoughts in my brain tangle with one another as I grapple to make sense of what the executors said. The word wife being associated with my dad has completely short-circuited my inner dialogue.
Wade turns to me, clearly as baffled as I am. Shrugging, I return my gaze to Mr. Peterson.
“I’m sorry, you must be confused,” I say, shaking my head. “My dad wasn’t married. Are you sure you have the most up-to-date will?”
Mr. Peterson’s light eyebrows tug in slightly, but his gaze flits to the paperwork. “No, I’m quite certain. As I said before, the will was notarized only a couple of weeks prior to Mr. Blackwood’s presumed death.”
“But that makes no sense,” I say, wracking my brain for an answer. He’d never mentioned another woman being in the picture and I would have thought she’d be prowling the house if she had some sort of claim on it.
“I really don’t wish to get into the middle of a family squabble. But this is why we requested Mrs. Blackwood be in attendance. There are some important estate documents that require her signature,” Mr. Peterson says, shuffling the paperwork in his lap. Then he reaches down, pulling up a briefcase stored by his feet. With a sideways glance at us, he files the extra papers inside and clicks the lock shut. “But I suppose you’re quite right about reaching out to her. Our office will make arrangements to have this matter squared away.”
I nod absently, realizing the craziness of his claim.
My mom and dad can’t still be married… can they?
Does she even know? Or is this why she didn’t want to be here? Because she knew I’d have questions that she didn’t want to answer?
“Well, despite the unfortunate circumstances, I hope it lightens your heart to know your father loved you very much, Ms. Blackwood,” Mr. Peterson says, standing up. “That’s a very sizable inheritance. If you need any recommendations on financial planners, I would be happy to offer a few suggestions. Of course, nothing needs to be decided now.”
“Thank you,” I say, standing up as well. I set the small box down on the coffee table and extend my hand to him. “I appreciate you coming out here. It’s been very informative.”
Wade also stands, but remains quiet and reserved beside me.
“If you have any questions on the remainder of the will, please do give me a call. Here’s my card, should you need it,” Mr. Peterson says, handing me a small rectangular card. It’s a thick, white piece of paper with gold letters embossed into the top that read Harper, Lance, and Scott.
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, nodding as I set it on the table beside the wooden box.
“And do let me know if you figure out that box,” he says, grinning and tipping his chin toward it.
A halfhearted smile is as much as I can manage.
Wade must have sensed my agitation. He’s the first to move, walking out of the sitting room and over to the front door to open it. Mr. Peterson and I follow him. For the briefest of moments, the executor turns to me as if he’s going to ask another question or say something else, but instead fashions a smile and simply nods. Patting my shoulder, he walks out without another word, making his way down the front steps and over to his silver BMW parked in the front loop. With a quick nod, he settles into the vehicle and drives off.
The two of us stand there in relative silence, watching the car fade into the distance of the long driveway. When we can no longer make out the taillights, Wade closes the door.
“Well, that was…” he begins.
“Messed up?” I say, scratching at my eyebrow before walking back to the sitting room.
“I was gonna go with enlightening, but sure—that, too,” he says, following me.
I return to my seat, staring at the coffee table as if it might come up and bite me at a moment’s notice.
Wade sits down beside me, placing a hand on my leg. “Are you okay?”
“Of course she’s not all right, foolish man,” Abigail says, pacing in front of the fireplace.
I smile slightly, knowing Wade can’t hear her admonishment.
Rubbing my hand across my forehead, I can’t seem to remove my eyes from the stack of paperwork. “I honestly don’t know. I’m really confused.”
“I can imagine,” Wade says. “That was quite the bombshell there.”
“You are not wrong,” I mutter.
“On the upside, it’s your mom who will have possession of the house. It’s not like it’s going to the state or some strange woman you’ve never met or anything. So unless she wants to sell the manor, chances are she’s not going to be kicking us out anytime soon,” Wade says, grinning sheepishly.
I blink back surprise. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“It was a lot to digest. But seeing as I just let my lease on the apartment lapse, I have to admit, I had a mini heart attack there for a sec,” Wade says, scrunching the left side of his face. “But at least you’d be safe. You could buy a hundred houses, if that’s what you wanted.”
The thought of being forced out hadn’t occurred to me, but it should have. Sure, we could find someplace new. However, with all that we’re facing, the last thing I would want to do is add moving into the mix.
I glance up at Abigail. The look of concern on her face makes my heart thump awkwardly in my chest. When my mom finds out she owns the manor, she wouldn’t sell it, would she? I mean, she knows Wade and I live here and had no intention of moving.
Then again, in her mind, it could be a possible way to get me back to Mistwood Point. She’s definitely got no love lost for this place.
My forehead furrows and my stomach is queasy all over again. I swallow hard, trying not to let the anxiety make me sick.
“So, what do you think is up with the box?” Wade asks, picking it up and turning it over in h
is hands. He eyes it from every angle, taking in the writing and carvings with a careful eye.
“I don’t know,” I say, turning again to Abigail.
“That box is a conundrum. It wreaks of power, though of what kind, I know not,” she says.
Wade shifts in his seat, setting the box back down. “Is Abigail here?”
I nod. “She doesn’t know anything, though.”
Wade’s face darkens as he stares at the decorative embellishments. “Hmmm. It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on what.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I mutter.
“Well, your dad wouldn’t have given it to you if it wasn’t important. Did he mention anything about a box before…” Wade cuts his words off, eyeing me like I’m a bomb about to explode.
I scrunch my face. “No. I wish he did, though.”
“I guess it’s up to us to figure out the mystery of it, then,” he says, placing a hand on my knee.
“Yeah.”
“I would take extreme caution with that box if I were you,” Abigail says, rubbing at the back of her hand. “However, the young man is quite right. There is more to that box than simply pretty carvings.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes, each of us lost in our own tangled thoughts.
“I can’t believe my mom would lie to me,” I say, breaking the stillness.
Wade looks up, turning to face me with weary eyes. “Did she ever tell you outright that they were divorced?”
I search my memories, and for the life of me, I can’t think of a single instance. She always said stuff like, ‘since they separated,’ or ‘when your dad and I were together.’ But I can’t think of a definitive time when she said they’d divorced. It was just sorta implied.
I shake my head. “Now that you mention it, I don’t know, actually. Everything is all muddled. It’s like I can’t even trust my own memories. Besides, there’s that whole section of my past, particularly when they broke up, that’s still blacked out from when I drowned.”
Wade’s eyebrows tug in. “Weird.”
“Your mother has many secrets I suspect you know not of,” Abigail says, locking eyes with me, then casting her gaze to the floor. “This is but one of a long line.”
I bolt upright out of the couch. “What do you mean?”
“What’s going on?” Wade asks, suddenly at my side.
I hold up a hand to have him wait.
Abigail straightens her stance and her lips press tight. “It is best she be the one to untangle her deceit.”
“What kind of answer is that?” I sputter.
“What’s she saying?” Wade whispers in my ear.
I turn to him, my heart beating wildly. “She’s saying my mom’s been lying about a lot, but she won’t tell me what she means.”
Casting my gaze back to Abigail, she’s now vanished. Clearly not wanting to be grilled for more information.
Sighing, I walk to the window.
There are so many unanswered questions and the stakes are already high.
“What are you thinking about?” Wade asks, wrapping his arms around me.
“So many things,” I say, staring into the snow-covered trees.
“We’ll get this all figured out. Remember, just take it a day at a time. That’s really the best you can do,” he says.
“I don’t know what I was expecting from today”—my eyes widen as I turn to face him—“but this definitely wasn’t it.”
“What? You didn’t expect to become a multi-millionaire?” he chuckles, brushing my cheek with the back of his hand.
I shrink back. “Ugh, I haven’t even processed that bit of info yet.”
“Yeah, you know things are messed up when that’s the bit of news that falls most to the wayside,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Right?” I nod.
“So, what do you want to do? Call your mom? Demand some answers?” Wade asks, his silver eyes taking in every movement I make.
“No, there’s no point in calling. Even if I did ask her, there’s no telling what she’ll say. She might keep trying to lie.” I bite down on my lip, a plan formulating in my mind. “Without being able to see her facial expressions or body language, I’d have to take her at face value.”
“All right. So, what then? Wait until the lawyers catch up with her?” Wade asks.
I snicker. “Oh, hell, no. Get packed up,” I say, pressing my lips tight. “We’re going to spend Christmas in Mistwood Point.”
My mother might be a lot of things, but I hope lying to a point-blank question isn’t one of them. I need answers—answers only she can give me. If she kept her ongoing marriage a secret, what else is she hiding?
Chapter 6
For Your Sins
Christmas in Mistwood Point is likely to be an interesting one, at the very least. Despite my original hesitation, I’m absolutely certain I need to talk to Mom about all of this face to face. I doubt she’ll see my questions coming, but at this point, who knows?
Plus, now might be a good time to give her the note I found in Dad’s journal and ask her what she knows about the Moirai. And anything else, for that matter.
Abigail’s insistence that my mom has more secrets has put me on edge and the last thing I want is to be caught off guard or put into a dangerous position because of my ignorance. I’ve dealt with enough of that and I’m so over it.
Shifting my thoughts from what’s to come, I focus on the notepad in front of me. I haven’t seen much of James since everything went down with my dad. But I’d hate for him to worry when we’re not here. He’s been like a grandpa almost, always checking in and making sure things are okay. Even now he refuses to talk to me about changing the arrangements until things are finalized with the estate. Who knows how long that will be?
“Okay, bags are in the trunk. Are you sure you don’t want anything else? Snacks? Pillows?” Wade asks as he enters the kitchen.
Looking up from the note, I stop and think. “Yeah, maybe pillows would be smart.”
With a tip of his head, Wade spins around, walking back the way he came. “On it,” he calls out.
Smiling softly, I return my thoughts to the note, scribbling down the details of our trip so James knows he doesn’t have to worry about us for a week or so. As I finish the note, I stare at the pad, remembering all the times my dad had found a way to communicate with James, even though he was dead. This notepad, for better or worse, was one item on this earthly plane that he had access to, and used frequently, to make it seem like he was alive. He definitely fooled me—and obviously fooled James, too.
Sighing to myself, I set the pen down and follow Wade. My stomach is tied in knots as I anticipate what my mom might say—or what she might try to avoid talking about. Regardless, all I know is there is too much at stake now to be vague, and I’m done being the one constantly left in the dark.
By the time I make it to the grand staircase, Wade walks out of the hallway, heading toward me with pillows in hand.
He smiles brightly—the kind that lights his face, evaporating any of the worry he’s lingering onto—and it makes me pull up short and catch my breath. Sometimes I forget how handsome he is. Things have been so heavy…so dark.
“Thanks for grabbing those,” I say, reaching for his hand. “I’m all done.”
“Then let’s hit the road, beautiful,” he says, sliding his free hand in mind.
As I lock up the house, Wade makes his way to Blue and places the pillows in the back seat.
“Would you like me to drive?” he asks as the door slams shut.
I finish locking the door and twist around to him. “No, it might be a nice distraction to drive, actually.”
Winking at me, he opens the passenger door and takes a seat. I follow him, shaking my head in amazement. He can still pull off winking and make it look so natural.
Slipping into the driver’s side, I turn on Blue and shift into gear.
The drive to Mi
stwood Point is surprisingly pleasant. Despite the cooler temperatures, the sun shines brightly, casting its warm glow across the snow. It makes the powder sparkle across the landscape—the ground, the trees. Even the naked branches sparkle, as if the snow has somehow managed to cling to its surface. The roads, on the other hand, are clear and free of ice, making it a mindless trip in terms of driving.
Yet, somehow, despite this, I can’t shake the sense of foreboding looming over me the closer we get. It’s as though a cloud of oppression is edging in and the closer to my old hometown, the heavier it feels.
“You look a little better today. How has your anxiety been?” Wade asks, breaking the silence for the first time in twenty minutes.
I clutch the steering wheel, thinking it over. “Okay, I guess. It comes and goes, depending on how much I overthink, I guess.”
“Doesn’t seem like it’s as bad as it was,” he says, shifting in his seat to place his silver gaze on me.
I shake my head. “No, not as bad.”
“Good. I was beginning to worry,” he says squinting at me as he rubs his temple.
“What about you?” I ask, narrowing my gaze between glances at the road.
His eyes widen. “What about me?”
“Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, dropping his hand to his lap.
I scrunch my face and quirk an eyebrow. “Do you have a headache?”
“A little. I should have brought my sunglasses. It’s bright out here,” Wade says, leaning back in his seat and reaching for my hand. “I forget sometimes just how bright the snow can be when it’s sunny.”
“We could stop and get you a pair in the next town. I don’t think we’re far from Winchester,” I say, squeezing his hand.
“Nah, it’ll be okay,” he says, his eyes drifting shut. “We’re nearly there. I’ll just close my eyes for a bit. That’ll help.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know.”
“Of course,” he says, grinning with his eyes still closed.
My lips press tight and I return my gaze out across the landscape. I’d hoped to have more company to help me keep my mind off of everything. Conversation helps keep the anxiety at bay, but then again, I haven’t been a terribly good conversationalist so far anyway.
Cursed Legacy: The Windhaven Witches Series Page 4
